“It wasn’t until I’d walked halfway across the parking lot that I realized: 1. I wasn’t wearing shoes. A. Or a shirt. 2. I didn’t bring my keys                       A. Or anything really. 3. I’d just left a complete stranger in my apartment.                       A. Naked.Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.”

“I was going to be so terrible at this… the worst he’d ever had probably. And then he’d never want to see me again (and I really wanted to see him again). I’d probably be traumatized and never want to have sex again, which meant every relationship for the rest of my life would fail, and I would end up alone and miserable with nine cats and a ferret.”

“He looked at me, finally. I wanted to believe I saw softness in his eyes, but I could have imagined it. I did that all the time. All I had to do was close my eyes and I could see him reaching toward me, his lips millimeters from my own. But always… always I opened my eyes and it wasn’t real.”

“What was he doing in there? Was he just getting dressed reeeaaally slowly? Was he looking through my things? Was he trashing my place because I’d run out and left him there like the biggest jerk this side of Kanye West at the 2009 VMA’s?”

“There was Bartender Boy, but he wouldn't get off until well after 2 A.M. I was a nervous wreck already, so if this dragged on till the wee hours of the morning, I'd be completely psychotic. I could just imagine it . . . straight-jacketed due to sex.”

“Let me get this straight… you didn’t have a cat? Did you get a cat just so that you wouldn’t have to tell me you were a virgin?”I pressed my lips together to keep them from trembling. I nodded. The look on his face was somewhere between shock and amusement. Hewas flabbergasted. That was the best word. His flabber had been thoroughly gasted.”

“Four. That’s the number of people who saw me hiding around the corner from my own apartment in just a skirt and a bra. Eleven. That’s the number of ant bites I got on my shoeless feet. Twenty-seven. That’s the number of times I was tempted to do myself physical harm because I am an IDIOT. One. That’s the number of times I tried not to cry, but failed.”